


Oh, the Best Laid Plans

by halloweennut



Category: Elena of Avalor (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, crack ship, listen i didn't think it would work but by god i did it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloweennut/pseuds/halloweennut
Summary: Dona Paloma is a busy woman and has no time to help redeem a malvago,  and only wants to wait out the month before she can be rid of him.The best-laid plans often go awry.
Relationships: Dona Paloma/Fiero
Kudos: 3





	Oh, the Best Laid Plans

Dona Paloma hated this. 

No, not hate. Loathed. 

She was a busy woman! High ranking guild member, member of the grand council turned royal advisor and businesswoman! Dona Paloma had no time to waste babysitting some malvago just because Elena asked her. But no, Elena wanted to try to give Fiero redemption, just as she had with Victor and Carla, and Paloma drew the short straw on being his handler. 

“Help guide him down a better path.” Elena had said in response to her sputtering rejections and protests. “And if nothing changes in a month, Mateo will take over.” 

Fiero wasn’t trying to make this easier or harder at the very least - without a tamborita or access to any magical implements or tools, revenge was a bit far from his reach. But what he was doing was making her miserable. Stubborn. Scowling. Prideful. It took her a week to get him to put on something other than malvago robes, a victory Paloma happily took, but he still refused to do much of anything other than stew around her shop and glare at her or her customers, usually scaring them off. 

“That’s the fifth person today, Fiero,” Hortensia snapped. “If you’re going to act like this, at least go stand near the jewelry.”

“I’m not your security,” he replied, just as sharp. 

“You’re a threat to my security,” she said. “And my financial security. Now go stand by the jewelry before I drag you by your goatee.” 

“I’m not a threat as long as I lack a tamborita,” Fiero snidely said. “Are you really so fixated on protecting your wealth that you’d let a security hazard near the most expensive items in your shop?”

Hortensia tried to keep the scowl from her face and bite back the retort on her tongue. The scowl came no matter what but the sentence died somewhere behind her teeth, and its vitriol came out with a vengeance. “Martin! You watch the shop, I’ll do inventory!”

Martin poked his head out from the back of the store. “But Dona-”

“Just watch the shop and don’t let this hijo de un burro leave the shop, Martin. Do not argue with me right now,” she replied, pushing past him. Not that Fiero could leave anyway, not with the “subtle” increased guard presence around her shop. Martin sputtered but made his way to the front of the shop anyway. Hortensia huffed, tossing her hat aside and grabbing the inventory log from the small desk near the door and a pen. Mumbling curses and trying to calm herself, she began taking detailed notes on her shop, making notes of what needed to be rotated, replaced or ordered in fresh. Eventually, the methodical monotonous rhythm of the work soothed the anger and frustration and allowed her another day without snapping. It wasn’t until she got into the section of fabrics she had did she pause. Dona Paloma took a deep breath and released it. Her wrist cramped, and she decided that she would relieve Martin from his duty of babysitting Fiero and the shop and he could finish inventory. She rolled her shoulders until there was a satisfying pop, and placed the ledger and pen on the desk. 

The shop was still standing, Martin was alive, and Fiero simply looked bored as he absentmindedly sorted jewelry. 

“If there’s any missing at the end of the day, malvago,” she warned, the edge of a threat lingered at the end of the phrase before she turned to Martin. “Could you finish the inventory, Martin? I left off at the fabrics.”

Martin nodded, and quickly returned to the backroom. Fiero gave her a cursory glance. “I have no use for half of these. But someone had to organize them by stone, and since your assistant is inept-”

“Do not insult Martin, firstly,” Paloma interrupted. “Secondly, I had them arranged by color and cut, which is how I like them!”

Fiero rolled his eyes and continued on his way. Fine, she thought. She’d just fix them later. Of course, later she realized that he had organized them by stone, then shade, then cut, which sadly was up to her standards. Therein laid the possibility that maybe he wasn’t too terrible. Not like she’d give him the chance, anyway. She was simply waiting out the month so he could get shoveled off to Mateo. 

Oh, the best-laid plans. 

“Ugh, this weather,” Hortensia murmured the following day, staring out one of her shop’s windows. “No one will be out to the shops today.”

“Is that what matters to you?”

“Not all the time. Excuse me for trying to make conversation.”

There was no snide reply as Fiero joined her at the window, still keeping a steep distance between them as he examined the sky. He hummed at the overcast sky, dark and gray and on the verge of a downpour. “I used to go on walks in weather like this when I was a young man.”

“And now that you’re an old man?” she asked, with only the normal amount of snideness that she only really ever used on a day-to-day basis. 

“I’ve been either away from Avalor, trapped in stone, or having to babysit and teach a maniacal sorceress and keep a thief and his daughter from acting too stupid for their own good,” Fiero replied frankly. She laughed with a hum at the notion and mental image. There was a beat of silence. “I did miss this.” 

Paloma nodded in acknowledgment at that and stared at the clouds for a moment as Fiero turned away. They were victims of her criticizing gaze, and she dared them to rain. With a satisfied nod, she went to the umbrella stand and plucked one that suited her outfit best. The malvago in her shop eyed her curiously. 

‘Well, no one is coming in, Martin is busy elsewhere, let’s go for a walk before the downpour starts,” Hortensia snipped. “You’re taller, you hold the umbrella just in case.”

“And what if I run?” he replied. 

“You’ll be at my mercy,” she said, thrusting the umbrella into one of his hands. “Come along before I change my mind. Maybe a walk will make you tolerable.” 

Fiero huffed, muttering something about not being a dog to take on walks, but followed her out of the shop. He didn’t run but instead waited as she locked the front doors before the two came to walk side by side through the streets. There was no conversation, and when the rain finally did come, he held the umbrella above both their heads. Hortensia could almost call him a gentleman.

But they started a routine halfway through that dastardly month, going out midday when the shop was dead for a walk around the city. There was a quiet rhythm of routine that they actually both enjoyed, especially once conversation not based on insulting one another was laced into it - a happy little change that slowly entwined itself into the other realms of life. It crept into the daily shop life. Conversations still had their edge, of course, Hortensia had a reputation to uphold, but something akin to familiarity softened the more jagged edges. 

And to think, three weeks beforehand, Hortensia had wanted nothing more than to be rid of Fiero. Instead, she found herself enjoying the conversations - he was one of the few people she knew of that could keep up with her. He had even started being...nicer to Martin, and actually wore normal clothing without her goading him. She actually found herself hoping that all of that would be enough to keep him in her shop and with her. 

The frank realization of that threw her through a loop and she nearly ripped out a chunk of her hair, comb snagging mid-brush one evening. Hortensia had let her mind linger on something clever he had said earlier that day for too long, and the thought came to the forefront of her mind. That simply would not do. She was a busy woman. A high ranking guild member, royal advisor, and a businesswoman. Dona Paloma had no time to waste babysitting some malvago just because the queen asked her. She placed the comb down on her vanity with a resounding click that echoed in her empty bedroom. Tomorrow was the last day she had to deal with him. Then she’d give her report to Elena and he would be taken over by Mateo, easy said and done. No more walks, no more conversations, and the life of Dona Paloma would return to normal. 

Oh, the best-laid plans. 

Her bun felt extremely tight the next day, tugging at her scalp and temples, her earrings were a burden and her hat refused to cooperate. Dona Paloma’s mood was sour and the weather matched. Cloudy with heavy storm clouds on the horizon. In any other circumstance, it would be perfect to catch a quick jaunt before the rain started and grab something from the bakery with Fiero, and grab something for Martin as well. But not that day. Today she would stop wasting time and move forward. 

She dreaded when Fiero was dropped off from the palace. He came in and threw her an almost charming grin if Dona Paloma allowed herself the privilege of being charmed. Fiero grabbed an umbrella from the bin and gestured to the door. “The weather beckons us, I’m afraid, and who are we to not oblige it while we can?”

“Not today. I’m busy,” she said. There was an unfamiliar edge in her voice, one she hadn’t heard in a month. Fiero hummed, sliding the umbrella back into place. Paloma tried not to look at him and tried to look busy, and tried to ignore the throb in her scalp. Fiero approached her, hands clasped behind his back, and she ignored the click of his boots as he did. She dipped her pen back into the inkpot with more force than she needed, splashing her fingertips. Paloma scoffed and rubbed the ink dry between her fingertips. 

“I would have given you a handkerchief,” she heard Fiero say. “Or at least would have taken one from the shelf and put it back.”

“If you mess with my merchandise I’ll ban you to the jewelry counter again,” Hortensia replied, followed by a silent curse on herself. “But it does not matter. It’s dry anyway.”

There was no clever quip to follow. He continued into their normal stream of conversation, the polite starters of her well being and onward to wherever the conversation lay...but Dona Paloma only answered in short, punctual sentences, near curt, near sour until he stopped. The silence boomed. Her head boomed. With a noise of disgust, she pulled her hat from her head and rubbed at her temples, frustrated and more than willing to blame everything on the humidity. 

“Are you-” the words sounded foreign from his mouth to the both of them. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Paloma snapped. “It’s this weather! Why can’t it just rain already and be done with?”

“Is it just the weather, Hortensia?” Fiero asked, an eyebrow raised. “You seem more frustrated than need be at-”

“Do NOT call me Hortensia!” she snarled. “I am Dona Paloma, and you will address me as such!”

“Do NOT bite my head off!” he replied. “And why? I’ve been calling you Hortensia for over a week now! Not even that fop of a chancellor calls you by your first name!”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Paloma pinched her nose as her head screamed. “Just- UGH!”

She stormed away from him, tugging at the hair combs and pins that kept her hair in place. There was the quiet thrum of rain on the window panes as the storm finally began. Eventually, even with hands and fingers made clumsy with anger, she managed to lose her hair and shove everything down into her pockets. There wasn’t much relief in the action, not as much as she had hoped. Dona Paloma angrily ran her fingers over her scalp, mussing her hair for an attempt at easing the tension, but to no avail. 

“What is wrong with you?” Fiero demanded from behind her. She scowled and turned back towards him. 

“Nothing is wrong with me, malvago, and you don’t get to ask such questions of me,” she hissed. “I’ll be taking care of inventory. Leave me be.”

Dona Paloma entered the backroom with a huff, uselessly picking up the ledger to try and get to the end of the latest entries, but the pages wouldn’t cooperate. Before she could take her rage out further on the vellum, Fiero entered, and pulled the book from her hands angrily, slamming it down on the desk. 

“What the h-,” she began to shout, but Fiero was immediately in her face, and Hortensia found herself pinned to the wall by his gaze. 

“What is going on with you, Paloma?” he hissed. “I thought we had left this sophomoric nonsense behind us!”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought!” she hissed right back, shaking away the feeling of being frozen under his glare to step closer. There was barely a hairsbreadth between them. “What matters is that it is the end of the first month, and you’ll be going back to the castle, and my shop will finally be free of you!”

“Is that what all this is about?” Fiero replied incredulously. “Was the past few weeks an act until you could be rid of me?” 

“No! No it wasn’t!” Hortensia replied. “But I cannot change the future!”

There was an odd look that ran across his face, and she couldn’t read what his green eyes said. Hortensia found herself desperately trying not to look anywhere near the vicinity of his mouth. Fiero scowled and pulled away from her. 

“Fine! I’ll make it easier on you and leave early since you simply cannot wait to be rid of my presence,” he said coldly, and she felt a shiver up her spine. Before she could make a protest about the weather, and that a carriage wouldn’t be there for him until six, Fiero stormed out of the backroom. She heard the telltale ring of the doorbell and slam of the front door as he left. Hortensia felt her knees wobble and a sharp prick as her eyes watered. She couldn’t understand her reaction, clueless as she pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling her throat go tight. The wind and the rain thundered outside, clattering against the window.

They missed the window for their walk. 

Hortensia took the chance to run. 

The door slammed behind her as she bolted into the streets and the storm. The rain pelted her, soaking through her clothing, and wind pulled at her hair and bit her cheeks. Hortensia did not stop. She refused to stop, just as she always had. Her heels clicked in an offbeat staccato to the storm on the cobblestones. Her chest burned. Her eyes stung from squinting through the downpour and tears Hortensia couldn’t stop. Eventually, she saw the tall, darkly dressed form of Fiero ahead of her. 

“Fiero!” she shouted. He stopped and turned, surprised at the sight of her. The storm had thankfully let up. 

“Hortens- Dona Paloma,” the surprise was replaced by disdain as she quickly approached. “How unlike you to let yourself look so unkempt.”

“Shut up and let me apologize,” Hortensia snapped. She rubbed at her face with the back of her sleeve, desperate to clear her eyes. The disdain softened. 

“I would offer you a handkerchief,” he said dumbly. “But all the best ones are back at your shop.”

She let herself laugh, but the noise was hollow. “I know...but...I need to apologize.” 

Fiero looked at her and gestured for her to go on.

“I...I’m sorry, Fiero,” Hortensia continued. “I should have never acted like that, how I did earlier today. I don’t….”

She trailed off. Fiero stepped closer. “Don’t what?”

“I don’t want you to stop calling me Hortensia, I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want you to be shoved off onto Mateo!” Hortensia snapped. “I want you to be one of the only people to call me by my name, I want you in my shop and for our walks and I want you to stay!” 

It wasn’t until the end of her list did she realize how close she was to him. Hortensia swallowed a lump in her throat. “Just...come back to my shop. Please.” 

There was a pregnant silence between the two of them. Hortensia straightened her back and looked up at Fiero expectantly, half thinking he’d turn and go to the castle and half wishing he would return with her. His eyes stared into hers, contemplative and almost waiting for something. 

“Well? Or do you enjoy being trapped in the rain? Because-” she was cut off when one of his hands came up to gently push a waterlogged lock of hair out of her face, and Hortensia tried to force herself not to lean into the touch. The attempt failed when his palm rested on her cheek, and she allowed herself the privilege of being charmed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Hortensia let herself enjoy it, all the while blissfully ignoring the pull of his other hand on her waist. She opened her eyes again, and there was little space between them again. 

She took the chance to run. 

Pressing a hand to the back of his head and tangling her fingers into fine gray hair, Hortensia pulled him down to her level. She held him close as she pressed her lips to his and hummed happily when he returned it, wrapping his arm tight around her middle. They remained like that for a few seconds before pulling away, almost dazed. Hortensia felt her face burn, and she coughed delicately into a fist, but she didn’t put space between the two of them. 

“We should return to the shop,” Fiero said, breaking the silence. “Can’t have a lady of your standing getting ill.”

“Please, it’ll take a little more than a little rain to knock me down,” Hortensia said proudly. “But yes, let’s. I think I’ll be closing early today anyway.”

Fiero walked to her side, offering her an arm. “Perhaps we break into that chest of tea from Satu?”

“You read my mind,” she laughed, lacing her arm through his. “Next time, we’ll have to remember an umbrella.” 

He gently smiled with a low nod, and the two of them made their way through the streets back to the shop.


End file.
